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penvisions · 1 month ago

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services requested {chapter three}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: Secrets are the undoing of everything good. That much you know for damn sure.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mentions of past drug use, mentions of past trauma, mentions of physical attack (very brief), allusions to predatory behavior, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, verbal threat, argumentative language, joel's sharp tongue, reader is depcited to have a manic anxiety attack, angst, we also get a nickname reveal in this one!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter three for y'all! ♡ feel free to (kindly) holler at me once you're done ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You’re in the middle of recanting of a funny story from one of the last camping trips you took, giggling at the memory of over a dozen wild turkeys running through your campsite and taking the unfastened rainfly with them when you hear the bell ding over the front door.

The deep rumble of Joel’s voice says your name and the two assistants at the front desk snap out of whatever they’re doing to greet him and tell him that you’re in the middle of a session. He assures them that he knows you, knows he’s coming to visit and then you hear the soft footsteps of your personal assistant as they approach through the curtains that hide the workstations from the entryway.

“Grey, there’s a really handsome man asking after you. Says he knows you.”

A gooey smile overtakes your lips as you picture Joel in the other room, standing tall and displaying confidence you now know is a front when he’s in new environments. He is confident in his own settings, in his own element and there’s something endearing about the way he’s trying his best to maintain that as you expose him to new things and introduce him to a different facet of the world.

“That’s my friend, he can come on back. If you’re cool with that?” You pause in the shading you’re stippling through the finished outline of a fox skull, muted pastel colors to highlight it beside you on the table set up. At her quick nod you smile at the younger girl, she’s focused on her book while you work on her thigh, a large piece she had been excited to knock on all-in-one sitting.

“Mr. Miller, you can come on through!” You raise your voice enough for it to carry, you’re pretty sure he’s partially deaf in his right ear. There’s a deep scar there that lines his temple, probably from some work accident, but you haven’t asked about it in case it’s a sensitive spot. You know all about scars carrying heavy stories. Maybe he’ll share it one day, maybe you’ll share you own story about the one you know he glimpsed that first day you met him.

As soon as he walked through the curtain you could tell something is wrong. But you try to maintain your professional mask and push forward. If something is truly wrong, he’ll tell you. You trust him to be honest with you, to be real with you.

He’s not smiling and he looks entirely uncomfortable. Not even trying to be collected beyond his polite words. But he shouldn’t be, if the glimpse of his bullseye tattoo on his hand has anything to say about the setting. He gingerly sets the to-go cup on the non-plastic wrap part of your desk. Right by where your phone is propped up on a framed photo beside the tablet you’re using as a reference.

“Hi, hope the drive wasn’t too much? I know this is pretty deep downtown.” You watch him take in the room where he stands with his hands in his pockets. The gallery style frames that are everywhere, mixed with posters and paper artwork, the little figurines- it’s a mess really. Something you don’t particularly like about the scene, how overcrowded and decorated personal spaces are. But it is what it is, you wonder what he’s thinking as you rinse off the mixture of white and black you had been using. The hum of the tattoo gun is quiet, one of your charged ones in favor of the traditional one you love. It’s still in the box from moving, though now it’s nestled in your own garage instead of your parents.

“Was okay.” He barely get out, voice low and deep. Like he’s holding back what he really wants to say and it triggers alarm bells to ring in your head.

“…everything…good?” You can see the same tension in his body from when you had taken him to the salon, but this…this was so much heavier on him now. His brother- it probably hadn’t gone well with his brother, but you weren’t about to ask him in front of people who he didn’t know and didn’t know him.

“Good.” Is his short reply and you feel dread settle like little pebbles in your stomach. That tone. It’s a lie, it’s forced. And your instincts fire up to the point where you’re turning the machinery off and tapping the girl on your table.

“Hey, gonna take a quick smoke break, let you get up and stretch your muscles. It’s been a good two hours to start.” She nods, putting her book down finally and watching as you spray a solution onto her skin and gently wipe it away with one of the many stacked paper towels you set up.

He’s stiff when you stand and stretch out the muscles of your back from hunching over. The cracks that sound in the air feel good as they release tension, but you don’t pay them any mind as you walk him back out to the entrance. There’s a filing cabinet for each artist here, four in total. And you can feel his eyes on your back as you dig around for the copies of the permits you made and their corresponding paperwork.

“The block I purchased is a few streets down. Closer to the south side, where the buildings begin to thin out. Didn’t want it to be too crowded for construction but also wanted to stay in the loop of downtown events. We can check it out when you have some downtime this week around your job, but there’s no pressure. I’ve got the deed and land survey here for you as well to go over.” Turning, you see his eyes flash to your hands, how they curl around the manilla folder so like the one you had handed him a few days ago.

“I’ll look it over, the permits are already submitted?”

“Yes, for building two shop fronts. One is classified as a prospective rental space while the other is classified as a business operation. My license was accepted by the state as a temporary transfer, but I won’t be able to operate a personal business until the application for an official one is approved. Didn’t really plan on moving until construction was completed anyway, need the cash flow to fund some of it and prove the validity of the business.”

“Got it, I’ll be in touch once I check on these. Drive by the lot too, check it out.”

“Oh, okay.” You feel a little dismissed as he takes the folder from you carefully, like he’s avoiding your hands brushing against each other. He’s avoiding your gaze too, now that you’re thinking about it.

“Probably be in touch before we leave for Philadelphia. But you have my number and work email if not.”

He’s turning away, just like that. And you let him. But not without reminding him he can use the card you gave him for any travel expenses he might need help with.

“Don’t worry, the trip is already budgeted for. But thanks.” His word sting, landing hard on your tense shoulders but all you can do is watch him walk out the door, voice caught in your throat.

It’s been more than a few days since you’ve heard from Joel. He never emailed or texted anything about the paperwork he came to get from the shop. He was there for a handful of minutes, when you thought he would at least stick around for a little tour and walkthrough of what kind of work you did.

Pushing the hurt away, you suspect it has something to do with how things went with his brother. At least, that’s all you had to go on and it was only a hunch. You know there’s strain there, an underlying strain to their connection. He offhandedly mentioned a nephew during one of your quiet conversations, but you don’t recall if it was a recent development or not.

Setting down the book you’re trying to read through, the last in a series of four romance novels by your favorite author, you pull out your laptop from the bedside table. The only thing on your mind as every description of a flawed but perfect man on the pages roves beneath your eyes is Joel.

Philadelphia.

That’s where Sarah lives, is attending graduate school and working an internship in her chosen field. He is so proud of her, so happy he could help give her the chance at an opportunity to do what she loves, even if the intricacies of social work are lost on you. You did a small guest spot at a shop there a few years ago, back before you had established yourself, back when you were still honing your skills. But you remember a lovely little spa that you had gone to with a friend, and you look them up now.

With the purchase of a package treatment for four, you attach the corresponding verification and specifications to a new email. The swoosh of it sending successfully helps to ease some of the anxiety built up inside you.

On the other side of town, Joel’s phone dings in his pocket. The new one that had arrived at his house that morning still in the box it showed up in. Already set with a tough case to withstand the elements of his job and a thin glass screen protector. His heart flutters even now as he recalls the beautiful looping scrawl of your cursive on a note saying he deserved a nice phone he didn’t have to worry about cutting his hand on. That you counted on those hands to create good things for you, and you wanted to ensure their safety moving forward.

A kind gesture and joke that both landed badly.

His phone was still an older version of the most popular brand, cracked screen but still worked. Your face when he used it in front of you for the first time had made him bark out a laugh. A comment about not being glued to his phone like you were meant he didn’t really care what it looked like as long as it worked.

Squinting through the dated prescription of his sunglasses, he sees your personal email address at the top of his notification list. With a grunt, he swipes open his mail app and opens up the message.

‘Mr. Miller,

I know you said you would be in contact and I don’t want to intrude on your business hours so this will be quick. Attached is a receipt and verification for a spa I loved in Philly. For you and your girls to enjoy during your visit, as well as Sarah’s boyfriend. There is also a reservation made at a restaurant that one of my friends is the sous chef at as well, a nice steak house. A birthday present and meal for you. I’m unsure of the date but wanted to make sure you received something from me.

Hope the day is good to you,

Grey’

With a scoff that burns through his throat, Joel stuffs the phone back into his pocket. He was still stewing on the fact that you’re married.

Sighing deeply, Joel sinks into the cushions of his worn leather couch. Ellie is in the kitchen putting some dinner together, planning it just right based on the response to when he anticipated being home- reasonably for once. He can hear her easy-going laughter and soft conversation with the girl she’s begun to bring around more.

It’s good for her, she deserves to be happy. Been dealt so much heartache that it’s about time she finds the joy in living and taking things into her own hands. He’s proud of her.

He’s bone tired, entire body taut with working all day in the summer sun. The deck is nearly complete, something he’s thrown himself into working on while admittedly giving you a wide berth. He’s not sure how to proceed. He’s already signed the contract and despite the… complication, he still really wants to fulfill it. You obviously need the help from someone who you trust to do the work, offering to hire him either way because you admire the way he went about renovating your parents’ house across the street.

He feels like a dick for the way he interacted with you last, when he visited the shop downtown. You were so excited for him to see where you worked and earn your name in a world he didn’t know much about. To show him around and talk about that part of your life. He recalls the way your glittering eyes dulled when he barely managed to get out short responses to your concerned questions. He had been too caught up in being blindsided by the new information about your personal life.

The demeanor he adopted was short, his eyes watching your every move to read more about you that he may not have originally caught on to. There was no ring on your finger, at least not one that could be mistaken for a wedding band. Perhaps it was by omission? A way to avoid the conversation.

He had acted like he didn’t know you, like you weren’t friends or at least on friendly terms. A business partner, that’s what he had acted like. Has been acting like.

His email in response to your kind one didn’t acknowledge the original content, instead he had forged ahead with a brief synopsis of how your permits all looked good and should be approved by the end of the month. He tried not to picture the crestfallen expression on your face as you opened the email to see his clipped words.

He’s furious. Two weeks later and he knows it’s because he’s hurt.

The photos of your wedding are the last post on your account. Marked a year and a half ago. He knows you moved here six months ago. He can see the fact that you’re online based on the little green dot beside your icon. You obviously still use the account, that much is clear even if you haven’t posted anything recently. You’re smiling in the photos, absolutely glowing in the arms of someone who looks exactly like the type you’d be into.

Younger, longer hair, slim waste and paired with lean muscles. Thick brows and suave sense of self, palpable even through the screen. How could he have been so stupid?

The betrayal of his own circumstance rears up, making him feel the whole ordeal again in bright, striking memories. Sarah couldn’t have been two years old, crying her little heart out in the living room as she had been set in her rocking cradle. The sounds of deep moans and slapping skin raining down the stairs like some sort of fucked up scene. Home from work and exhausted like he is now, but younger by more than two decades. He hadn’t even bothered to disturb them, the woman he called his wife and whoever she had deemed more important than her own daughter.

He had waited in the living room, soothing his little girl as best she could. Getting her to calm down while his heart raced and his mind moved a mile a minute wasn’t an easy thing, but he had managed to get her to sleep. That’s when they had both come down the stairs, her in her robe and him fastening his pants back up like he owned the damn place. Jokes and laughter bubbling up until they spotted him sitting on the couch cradling a relaxed Sarah.

It had been a mess, they were both high as kites. Something Joel had never expected from the woman he had married, had dated his entire senior year in high school and then into his first year of college. But when she realized she was pregnant, he dropped out and started working construction to bring in the money they would need. Allowing her the freedom to keep her own light schedule of classes to appease her parents and work part time at their grocery store.

He feels the sting of her words now, as he gazes down at photos of you smiling with another man. That he hadn’t been enough, that he didn’t give them enough of his time and attention. He wonders if your husband knows the offer you made him, maybe have made to others before. The words you said to him echo in his head alongside hers.

Other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer.

He has to admit, he didn’t think you were the type of person to be so causal about an affair. But then again, he didn’t think his now ex-wife would’ve turned to illegal drugs to handle her postpartum manic depression and bring her drug dealer into their house to fuck him while their baby cried her head off.

It’s hard to reconcile the person he’s gotten to know over the last month with the shifting image of you now knowing the things that he does. The kind and spunky daughter of his best friend across the street. The one who he’s heard nothing but good things and gentle praise about for years since he moved into this neighborhood. Always saying that he’s raising two strong girls just like their own, and maybe when you visited, they could be friends.

Your soft smiles and harmless taunts make his chest hurt, he can’t tell if they were real or all some ploy to get him to soften up around you. He doesn’t feel like they had been fake, not the quiet words you both shared over cups of coffee and while he had you watch over the detailing of specific tasks to ensure it was what you wanted. The way you always made sure him and the crew had coffee and food, wanting them to not feel pressured about the deadline and still be able to focus fully on the tasks at hand.

It can’t have been fake, he saw your veneer of polite professionalism come down. He comforted you when he saw tears spring up in your eyes and you kept grabbing at the spot on your lower back where he knows there’s a scar.

You’re friends. You and him. At least…you were friends. He doesn’t feel like it at the moment, he feels like he’s caught his ex-wife cheating all over again. The feeling of your soft, gentle hands running through his hair surprise him, the way you had soothed him while he sat in a salon chair for the first time in a long time. The setting was new to him, a nice place with rich and colorful decoration, beautiful people with luscious hair and fantastic artwork painting their exposed arms. Long lashes, immaculate make-up, expensive looking clothes. He was out of place, same with the tattoo shop he had stopped in later on in the day.

It made him nervous in a way he didn’t anticipate. Like you would see him, really see that he was just some blue-collar man who did harsh labor day in an day out. Someone who could provide for himself until his last breath, but then again- that’s exactly what you saw. The contract offered, read over, and signed proves that. He just can’t fathom the why, now that he knows you’re married.

As soon as Ellie and Dina are ascending the stairs after a decent meal, one in which he tried to be as present during as possible even with his mind a blur of conflicting thought, Joel is taking the keys from the bowl beside the door and heading out the door.

He needs to get to the bottom of this now.

“Hey, Joel, is everything okay?” Your mind is working overtime as you swing the door open to find the man standing there on the stoop. It’s small, just enough space for your giant potted elephants ear plant, a little table, and one patio chair. The railing is gone, something you had taken down before you moved in, the furniture in easier and something you wanted to replace anyway.

You worry for a second that something is wrong, the radio silence wasn’t quite so profound, the understanding that he was working his last job before going out of town and then you being busy with a few clients who had big pieces to complete. But the emails you had exchanged were…strained? Something’s off, has been ever since that first day he handed over the signed contract and then came to the shop to visit. Despite that conversation going over relatively well, perfect even.

He's not moving to come into the house, though you open the door to offer him room to pass by and enter. Joel’s jaw is clenched tightly, you can see it twitching with the force he’s grinding his teeth together with.

You know you look a mess, face washed for the night, baggy clothes and knotted hair pulled up off you the back of your neck. You didn’t have anything scheduled tonight so you’ve just been mindlessly scrolling through the streaming services, not really focusing on finding something to watch. It was always the same routine until you settled on something you’ve watched over a million times already. It’s a comfort thing, that’s what your therapist says. To avoid being exposed to something you aren’t expecting in new media.

“Dunno, why don’t you ask your husband if everything is okay. Considering you just hired me as a personal contractor with an intimacy clause in his goddamn contract!” You flinch at the volume of his voice, the echo of it as it bounces off of closed garage doors and back through your open door. Your nails dig into the worn wood of the front door, catching Joel’s eyes as they do so.

“I don’t have a husband.” Your jaw clenches as your mouth snaps shut. Phantom pains break out all over your skin, pebbling the skin in goosebumps as the sting of a blade lances in your back. “Please just- come inside where we can have a little more privacy.”

“No? Sure seems like your client from the other day is convinced you’ve got one.” Joel towers over you, standing right in front of you settled against the back of the couch once he follows you inside. “Checked your account, saw the damn photos myself and here I was defending you against my shithead brother that you had no ill intentions.”

When you don’t say anything, too taken aback by the vehemence in his words, he continues on- overrun by the emotions he’s being bombarded with from every angle. The ones he had thought he dispelled after talking with you, after mulling over the stipulations of the contract a few times. But day one is here and he’s not sure how he feels anymore- other than betrayed and lied to. Played like a goddamn fool. That much is obvious, but the not one, but two mentions of the reason for your sudden move across the country is triggering and it’s hard to catch your breath let alone speak the soothing words you want to.

“I thought this whole thing was too good to be true, young thing like yourself offering me the chance of a lifetime. Turns out you’re married and have a husband who probably just doesn’t give you enough attention so you go looking for it with people you can keep around with the promise of money. Thought this would be a way to spend more time doing what I wanna do and focus on my girls, but no. Played like the fool I am once again. It was all a sham, this whole thing-“

“It is not a mistake!” Rage takes over your entire body, flames of it striking hot and consuming you.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it really does look like it is. Well, where is he? Off on some business trip or does he like to be in the house when you’ve got your men over? I sure as hell didn’t, but I don’t presume to know anything about you anymore.” And the self-depreciating smile he gives you sends you hurling over the edge of caution. Giving you the fuel to let the flames consume you and speak the words you haven’t to anyone but your lawyer.

“You wanna talk about my ex-husband so bad, Mr. Miller?” You push off the back of the couch and punch a sharp nail into his chest. You know he could feel the point of it through his clothing if the pinched expression he makes is any indication.

“You want to know about the man who was soliciting his apprentices right underneath my nose and then attacked me when I approached him about it, when I threatened to report him? You want to know about the man who probably did the same fucking thing to me, set his sights on me when I first started in this career and making a name for myself? You want to know about the man who he hired after our shitshow of a divorce to solicit me and give the community more reason to doubt my skills and hard-earned establishment? The guy I thought was such a breath of fresh air in the wake of something so fucking horrible only to find out the whole thing was a set up? He set his focus on fueling the rumors that I used my body to get where I am, that I slept my way into success. And I’ll tell you one more thing, Mr. Miller- you will not accuse me of being the shady motherfucker in this equation because I’m nothing like the man you assume is still in any part of my life.”

Chest heaving and body humming, you stare directly into his eyes. Seeing the weight of the words that rushed out of you settle in him, around the room, making it far more tense than it already had been. But it’s a different type of tension, one born of unease and spoken trauma. You left out the harder to swallow details, but the timeline you depicted is vile all the same.

His brown eyes flash with something like regret as his face slackens at your heated words. But it closes right back up into something unreadable. He doesn’t open his mouth to respond, it’s too busy frowning into a hard line. His plush lips almost white with the pressure of it. He’s poked and prodded at the one thing you have no patience for, insinuation of bad deeds and shady dealings. You realize that some conflict was bound to happen, either because of you or because of him- that’s just how human interactions and relationships went. But this?

This was something you never saw coming from the sweet, determined man who you had first met a month ago. His words had been vicious, biting and stinging where they land. Surely, he read something in the preconceived notion of your intentions, fueled by the dated knowledge of someone who you so thoroughly rinsed your hands of that they were serving time in prison with a restraining order against should he ever be free again. But right now you didn’t have it in you to ask after him, to make sure he was okay and if it was linked to something in his own past. Right now you were livid. The accusations he was slinging striking harder than the mistake of him taking you for a practiced sex worker who collected men.

“Jealously doesn’t look good on you, Mr. Miller. I suggest you get a hold of yourself and think about the next words to come out of your mouth very carefully. Otherwise you’ll be proven right that this whole thing is one big mistake.”

He’s just staring and your body thrums as you glare back at him. With nothing else to say in defense, you dismiss him as professionally as you can, even if right now you feel like absolute trash. You didn’t rage and ruin, you didn’t hurl fists or hurtful words. That isn’t who you are, even at your most angry and betrayed. Not anymore. He didn’t deserve it, deep down in your very soul you know he doesn’t deserve that despite the manner in which he approached you. He’s a hurt man, his pride and emotions blindsided by something you were working up to telling him about.

“Blueprints for the original foundation of the house are on the island, should you deem me a good enough person to keep working for.” You turn your back on him, instincts urging you to retreat before you say something you’ll regret. Anger and hurt colliding in you among the flames of rage and old situations filling you up so full that it’s hard to put one foot in front of the other without stomping. “I trust you can see yourself out.”

You wait on the landing upstairs, the plush rug you had put down over the hardwood giving you the opportunity to stand there in silence. You don’t move forward until you hear the swoosh of thick papers being picked up and the click of the door behind Joel as he leaves the house. But you don’t let go of the breath held in your lungs until you hear the roar of his truck engine, and the shifting of gears signal his leave of the property completely.

Only then do your knees give out and you land heavy on your palms right on the floor. The rug is soft beneath you, but it does nothing to calm the shaking of your entire body as the adrenaline leaks out of you alongside it.

He’s numb and stunned the entire drive back across town. On autopilot as he maneuvers his truck down the late-night streets. He had no idea what time it was, but the sky twinkled with the few stars that shone brighter than the city lights.

He’s torn. Between the emotions that assaulted him all week as he lamented over who he thought you were and what you were capable paired now with the way he had approached you with no doubts in his mind of how you manipulated him. Only to find out that you were nothing like he had begun to think.

You were you. The same young woman who asked after his company to fix up your parents house the longer it sat and aged, sent them on a long vacation in order to do it. The same young woman who soothed him as his anxiety spiked. The same one who he soothed himself when you experienced a similar episode. Because you were a victim of the things he accused you of.

And it fucks him up to picture you happily married only to discover that your partner was cheating on you, betraying your trust in such a devastating way. He knows what it feels like, he’s lived it and his confrontation most likely has you living through it all over again.

As Joel slows down to turn into his driveway, a waving figure catches his eye.

Your parents are seated on their porch across the street and with a guilt settled in his stomach like lead, he gets out of the truck and heads over. You mother is beaming at him, your father already pouring amber liquid into a third cup and holding it out to him as he ascends the few steps.

“Joel Miller! How could you keep such a big secret from us?”

Joel’s heart thunders in his chest, the tight coil of muscles around it almost choking as he reinforces his stance in preparation for everything to come crashing down around him. They know, his mind betrays him. They know about the hurtful words and dirty thoughts he’s been having about you, how he just lost any semblance of who he thinks he is and shouted at you like a child who needed to be chastised for grave mistakes. But he’s the childish one now, ready to face the consequences of his rash actions brought on by past experiences and moments lived. He’s transported back into that younger body of his, that younger mindset that everything is his fault. That he’s the bad guy and he fears he always will be.

Just as he breaths in, the controlled expression on your parents’ faces fall away into wide grins and giddy energy.

“Yeah, man, can’t believe you and my daughter conspired behind our backs to do the house over!” Joel is slow to take the offered drink, not sure if it’s the best idea to start now. But he downs it after clinking it against the two your parents hold up. Setting the thick glass down, he signals no more for himself, though they pour another generous helping into their glasses to sip at.

“We can’t thank you enough for all the attention to detail, it’s a dream come true. We feel so spoiled, you two are gonna be trouble moving forward, aren’t you?”

The porch light gives Joel the perfect view of your fathers humor, mirth dancing in his eyes as he jests that his close friend and daughter are cut from the same cloth. And even now, with how things are between you two- Joel feels pride at being compared to someone as good as you. He’s heard nothing but praise about you from your parents, from the two women who were at the tattoo shop, from the crew after they finished the renovation. You were good and he was a goddamn fool.

“Was just doin’ my job, Lydia. Treated it a little more carefully than other projects, but a job nonetheless.”

“Nonsense! You truly outdid yourself here, it’s just amazing. You have such a good eye, all we did was offhandedly mentioned things we might want to get done some day- eventually. But you and Grey have surprised the hell out of us.” Relief washes over him, giving him a reprieve from the torment he’s been wallowing in for most of the day. Hell, for the past week as he’s been subjecting himself to.

“That girl never rests, not even after the hard year she’s had. She gives so much of herself to everyone around her just like you and this is beyond anything we expected.” Lydia is near tears, no doubt due to a combination of being an overly emotional person and the alcohol she’s consumed in the late hour.

“She just moved back too, barely has had any time to get her own house fixed up but she goes and drops all the money to get ours redone after sending us on an unreal holiday for our anniversary? Bless her, she’s one of the best things I’ve ever had the pleasure in taking a part in making.” Her voice is strong even as she dabs at her eyes with a tissue.

“Grey is my crowning achievement. She’s stronger than I’ll ever be, that’s for damn sure. Not to get into it too much, but the day she showed up here with a black eye and told me she needed to move in, all I could see was red. I could’ve killed for her, but she said she had already taken care of it.” Your father’s words settle heavy in his stomach, making him nauseous as the reality of what he did hits him.

The stab of regret for his words, for your forced admission of your own trauma at his demand is sharp in his chest. Prickling over his entire body as he realizes the depth of his mistake in confronting you the way he did. Bidding them goodnight, Joel somberly crosses the street and retreats back into his own home.

“Hey, Joel! Did you know that the neighbor’s daughter, the one who you’ve been working on the renovation with, is one of the best tattoo artists in the Midwest? Her page is insane, I think I’m gonna need to ask you to use your connections to get me a consultation, I want her to design something for me, finally cover up this scar. But she’s booked up for months, her assistant said there’s something like a year long waiting period to get an appointment. That’s so freaking cool, just today she posted some designs and they are so awesome! She goes by Grey, cause of the way her shading is next level.”

To make matters worse, Ellie fires off quick words at him the second he’s back through the door. She’s in her version of sleep clothes as she sits at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and an open bag of cookies. Voice carrying to him through the house.

“Uh, yeah, baby girl, I’ll ask next time I see her.” He shucks off his boots, still dressed in his work clothes from when he had gotten home earlier. He must be staring off into space, face betraying how off kilter he feels because Ellie is quickly getting up from her spot and crossing into the living room.

“Hey….everything okay? You look a little more grumpy than usual. Which is saying something because you’ve been more relaxed lately. Did something happen?”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t hold back the tears he feels well up hot behind his eyes. His lungs lurch and a sob escapes through his lips when he opens them up to reassure her everything is okay.

“Woah, okay. Let’s sit, yeah?” She’s up in his personal space in a heartbeat, ushering him back into the living room and onto the couch with small hands and gentle movements.

“Just missin’ you and Sarah, is all. I feel like I haven’t given y’all enough of my time these past few years.”

“What are you talking about, you’re working to provide for us. College isn’t cheap and you’re only one man. A really good one, selfless and loving. I-I don’t know where I would be without you, dad.” When she reaches for his hand and tangles her fingers with his, he looks up to the ceiling to try and reign in the tears that are rapidly falling. He can taste them on his tongue as they drip into his mouth, nose and throat burning as they consume him. As everything hits him like a freight train.

And then it all comes tumbling out of him is quiet words, between heaving breaths and gasping exhales.

All of it, how he feels so conflicted being attracted to you with the difference in ages, the way he knows you through one of his close friends, because he started working for you. And then the contract you offered him for work, an opportunity to slow down and be with her more. How he feels like he’s failed as a father and brother. The argument he had with Tommy, the check he shoved at him as a way of showing him he still loved the man even if he couldn’t say it. How he feels left behind in favor of something better, a new life with new people he had no part of. All of it leaves him, deflates him as the words are given actual life as they pass through his lips. No longer plaguing his mind on a loop, unshared and unraveled.

To her immense credit, Ellie listens to it all with a closed lipped expression. Her bright eyes watching the way he tangles his hands together, how he runs them through his shortened hair and trimmed scruff. All of it is displayed so clearly in him, no longer hidden away for him to shoulder alone.

“You know, I was home from classes one day, and I saw you two unloading the truck. The way you two moved together, like magnets drawn to each other. That same goofy smile on your face as when I tell you a bad pun but aimed at her when she’s done nothing but simply breath. The smiles she gives you when you aren’t looking, it was- well, honestly, it was a little gross to witness. But it was also good, dad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree and just yourself. The laughter and sounds of you two working together came out the open window of the house and it just…it sounded right, you know?”

When he doesn’t respond, Ellie continues on in a confident voice.

“Sounds like you’ve got a really important first job then, huh?”

previous chapter || next chapter

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taking-thyme · 1 year ago

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🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia.

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs, Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth.

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos.

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it.

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

#deity work #witchblr #witch tips #spirit work #lucifer deity #lucifer devotee #luciferian #luciferian witch #lucifer morningstar

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ltash · 4 days ago

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CONSUMED

Your undercover mission with Ghost to catch Makarov went South.

SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

There's not exactly a whole lot of time for formalities when you're chasing a known terrorist across an entire city. All the time is taken up with shouting orders over the radio and checking your six as you make your way to the next location.

But the sight of you, something different than what he's used to in this line of work, not to mention how you're certainly a sight for sore eyes, certainly makes him pause for just a little bit; staring across at your distant, brisk form as you pass him by, briskly striding with purpose.

And when you stepped into the grand ballroom, the world seemed to slow. The red silk slip dress clung to your form like a second skin, every movement fluid and deliberate. Diamond earrings shimmered under the golden chandelier light, catching the eyes of more than a few admirers. The unmistakable click of your Louboutins against the marble floor was drowned out by the soft hum of conversation and distant orchestral music.

At the bar, you took your seat with effortless grace, the picture of a Russian elite with secrets worth trading. You could feel Soap's watchful gaze through his scope, ever steady, ever ready.

To anyone else, you were just an elite; a well-to-do woman who certainly didn't mind showing off her status. To the taskforces' eyes, you're a goddamn fox; a veritable vixen, and that dress does nothing to quell the fact.

Soap, in particular, is more than grateful; taking every opportunity to gaze at you through the scope of his sniper. He's not the only one, either, who's paying extra special attention.

In the sea of elites draped in luxury, Ghost stood out, not for his wealth, but for the sheer force of his presence. He wasn't just your bodyguard; he was a guard dog, a predator among prey.

Across the room, your gaze found him. Thick thighs, solid like tree trunks, clad in dark grey cargos that did nothing to hide his powerful build. His black t-shirt stretched over a lean, muscular torso, every ridge of strength evident beneath the fabric. His left arm bore a sleeve of intricate tattoos, inked stories of war and survival, stark against his pale skin.

Skeleton-printed gloves encased his large hands, hands capable of both destruction and protection. And then, there was the mask. The balaclava, crowned with a white skull, rendering his expression unreadable. But his eyes, those sharp, watchful eyes, never left you.

He stood tall at 6'4", a tower of shadow and steel. Unshakable. Dangerous. A force meant to break men apart with his bare hands. And tonight, he was yours.

Soap is a good little spy.

He's good enough to see the attention you're drawing from every other elite in the room; all of them hungry, salivating to have a taste of you in any way, shape, or form. But he's also good enough to see the way Ghost looks at you; not with that same hungry, desperate gaze that the others do, but instead, something much more darker and cold.

Soap isn't exactly worried about you, per se, but he is a little bit concerned.

The haunting melody of Renegade drifted through the ballroom, slowed and reverberating through the air like a ghost of a song.

"Keep your eyes on mine...

And if you want, I'll tell you lies..."

Your gaze lifted, drawn by something unseen, and met his across the room. The world around you faded, the hum of conversation dulling under the weight of his stare.

Ghost didn't move. Didn't waver. His dark eyes, shadowed beneath the white skull of his mask, locked onto yours and held, unrelenting, unwavering.

It was a silent command. A challenge. A promise.

And you weren't looking away.

Every pair of eyes was on you, on your tight, hourglass figure and your sensual, sultry gaze behind those dark lashes. But those were cheap thrills; nothing compared to the way Ghost's gaze glued onto your form; intense, unflickering and downright predatory as it locked onto your gaze. And when it did, there was no breaking it. He was like a predator that managed to catch its prey with only its gaze.

"Tell you I'm yours for life..."

Ghost moved, slow and deliberate, his strides purposeful as he paced across the room, never once breaking eye contact.

"Oh, should've listened to them, don't you know what I am..."

The words seeped into the air, weaving into the tension that crackled between you. And in that moment, it felt as if he was speaking to you, not with words, but through the unyielding weight of his stare.

His eyes, dark, intense, held a question, a warning, an unspoken truth.

He wasn't just your protector. He wasn't just a man standing in the shadows for you. He was something far more dangerous, something you should have been wary of.

But you weren't afraid.

And neither was he.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and tore your gaze away, unable to hold it any longer.

Even though he was your teammate, even though this was just another mission and he was merely posing as your bodyguard, you couldn't ignore the pull, the undeniable, magnetic force that seemed to tether you to him.

It was reckless. Dangerous. A distraction you couldn't afford.

And yet, with every passing second, every lingering glance, it became harder to fight.

Soap was still watching you through the scope. He wasn't exactly worried about you, not entirely, anyway. But he had his concerns. Namely: that every damn elite in this place appeared to be eyeing you like a goddamn meat market, sizing up each and every curve of your body and salivating to have a taste of it. Soap's finger itched on the trigger of his gun; wanting to pick some of them off for their damn audacity.

Ghost's job was to cover you, to be your shield in case things went south with Makarov. Even though you could hold your own, you weren't just some undercover agent, you were Spetsnaz, trained to survive in the deadliest situations, the weight of what you were about to do still pressed down on you.

You were about to lie to him.

Makarov. The man whose very name sent a ripple of fear through even the most hardened killers. A man who thrived on chaos, who could read deceit like it was second nature.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. The mission had to come first. No fear. No hesitation. And yet, as your eyes flickered back to Ghost, standing tall and immovable in the crowd, a silent guardian in the dark, somehow, that pull toward him only grew stronger.

It was part of the reason why they'd paired you with Ghost. Not because they thought you were incapable, but mainly because they knew that Ghost had an unnerving presence to him; one that would put the other elites on edge and keep the attention off. Though, from the way Soap was watching, from the way his focus kept shifting to the men that kept leering in your general direction, you were certainly getting more attention than they had originally expected.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. The weight of anticipation settled deep in your chest, tightening with every passing second.

The wait for Makarov was suffocating enough, but it was Ghost's gaze that truly unraveled you.

You could feel it, steady and unyielding, burning through the crowded ballroom like a silent tether pulling you in. He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, but the intensity in his stare was enough to make your pulse quicken.

The mission demanded your focus, yet all you could think about was him.

Soap had his scope trained directly on you, taking every opportunity he could to admire your figure in that damn dress. He wasn't entirely bothered by how other elites kept staring at you; knowing that Ghost was with you, keeping everything under control. Though, he did wonder what it was that Ghost was up to; seeing how the balaclava-clad man was staring, unblinking, at you.

The low growl of engines filled the night as a fleet of sleek black Range Rovers rolled up to the grand entrance, their tinted windows gleaming under the golden lights. A hush fell over the crowd, the unspoken weight of power and danger settling in the air.

Then, the doors opened.

Vladimir Makarov stepped out first, his presence commanding, calculated. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he exuded the kind of quiet menace that needed no theatrics. His sharp eyes swept the room, assessing, calculating. Behind him, a small entourage of armed men followed, their movements crisp, their expressions unreadable.

The air thickened with tension.

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. This was it.

From across the room, Ghost didn't move, but you knew his hand was already hovering near his weapon, ready.

Soap tensed up the moment that Makarov exited his car; attention immediately shifting and watching him intently as he made his way inside the gala. But it wasn't just him; it was almost like the entire crowd seemed to simultaneously tense up the moment he entered; watching him with an almost bated breath that could've made the gala completely silent, if not for the quiet whisper of the crowd.

"Eyes on the target, Ghost." You whispered into your radio, keeping your tone smooth, composed.

"Gotcha," Ghost's voice crackled back, low and steady. No hesitation. Always watching.

Before you could dwell on it, a presence loomed closer.

"Privet!" Makarov greeted, his voice thick with false warmth. The moment his lips brushed your cheek in a mock display of civility, a chill ran down your spine.

You forced a small smile, playing the part, even as your instincts screamed at you to pull away.

Makarov straightened, unbuttoning his coat before sinking onto the plush leather couch in front of you. His sharp eyes studied you, piercing and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.

You crossed your legs elegantly, masking the tension in your muscles, keeping your expression unreadable.

The game had begun.

Makarov smirked as he leaned back, his coat slipping from his shoulders.

"Ты выглядишь напряжённой, моя дорогая." (You look tense, my dear.)

You forced a small smile, keeping your posture relaxed. "It's been a long day, Vladimir."

"Ах, но сегодня только начинается." (Ah, but today is just beginning.) He reached for the glass of vodka on the table, taking a slow sip before setting it down. "I assume you already know why we're here, да?"

"I have an idea," you replied, tilting your head. "But I want to hear it from you."

Makarov chuckled. "Always so cautious. That's why I like you." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "The Gora Dam... The airport... These are merely the beginning. I want to send a message-a reminder to the world that no one is untouchable."

"Ты хочешь вызвать хаос." (You want to cause chaos.)

His lips curled into a wicked grin. "Chaos is necessary. Without it, people grow complacent. Weak. They need fear to remind them of their place." He tapped his temple. "It is a lesson history has taught us time and time again."

In your ear, Soap's voice crackled softly.

"Bloody hell, lass. He's really goin' off, ain't he?"

You ignored Soap and kept your gaze locked on Makarov. "And how does drowning thousands in a flood prove your point?"

"Because it will not just be a flood," he said smoothly. "It will be a cleansing. The dam collapses, the waters consume everything. And in the chaos, we strike the airport. Mass panic, mass casualties. The world will watch in horror as their leaders do nothing." He tilted his head. "And then they will see who truly holds the power."

Ghost's voice came through the radio, low and tense.

"We've heard enough. Keep him talking just a little longer."

You took a slow breath. "And what happens after? You expect people to follow you after this massacre?"

Makarov laughed softly. "People always follow the strongest, моя дорогая (my dear). When they see their governments crumble, they will turn to the ones who showed them the truth."

You glanced at his coat, spotting the pistol tucked inside. Your fingers twitched, but you kept still.

"We've got everything," Soap muttered. "On your mark, Ghost."

Makarov leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Скажи мне, ты со мной?" (Tell me, are you with me?)

You smiled, shifting slightly in your seat. "Of course, Vladimir."

And then you heard Ghost's quiet command.

"Now."

Soap's finger was on the trigger; ready to take his shot. He had a clear-cut view of Makarov, sitting there smug as if he'd already won. But Soap waited, taking steady breaths and watching intently as you continued to speak with him. The only problem with the fact was how closely Makarov was leaning towards you; making a clean shot more difficult, especially with you so goddamn close. Ghost's breath was just as steady as Soap's, gaze unblinking as he kept his watch.

Makarov's sharp gaze flickered downward, and in that split second, you knew.

His smirk faltered. His eyes locked onto the tiny mic clipped discreetly to your collar, barely visible against the dark fabric. The amusement in his expression drained, replaced by something far colder.

"Ты думаешь, я идиот?" (You think I'm an idiot?) His voice was quiet, dangerous.

You barely had time to react before his hand shot out, fingers closing around your throat in a crushing grip. Your breath hitched as he yanked you toward him, his other hand reaching into his coat? pulling out his pistol in one swift motion.

"Ghost!" Your voice choked off as the muzzle pressed against your temple.

Ghost was already moving. His gun was raised, aimed dead at Makarov's head.

"Let her go," he ordered, voice like steel.

Makarov only laughed, tightening his grip on your neck. "Ты подвела меня, моя дорогая." (You betrayed me, my dear.) His finger hovered over the trigger. "Жаль." (A shame.)

You didn't hesitate. You struck, hard. A sharp jab to his wrist, forcing the gun upward just as it fired. The shot went wide, shattering a chandelier above you. You twisted against his grip, ignoring the burning in your throat.

Ghost's gun roared, but Makarov was already moving, ducking behind cover as his men stormed the room.

And then the gunfire truly began.

Chaos erupted as the first gunshot rang out, followed by dozens more that filled the air. The calm and quiet gala turned into a bloodbath in an instant; blood and broken glass flying through the air, people screaming and shouting in panic. Soap's eyes widened as they watched the scene unfold, seeing Makarov's men pull out their guns and begin to return fire.

"Bloody hell..." Soap cursed under his breath, taking cover behind a nearby pillar. "Lass is in trouble."

Makarov's grip was like a vice, his fingers digging into your throat as he snarled in Russian, "Ты предательница!" (You're a traitor!) His gun pressed against your temple, the cold metal burning against your skin.

Ghost was already moving, his pistol drawn in a heartbeat. "Drop it, Makarov." His voice was low, deadly.

But Makarov only smirked, his eyes gleaming with something close to amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn't hesitate. Your training kicked in-one sharp twist of your body, a well-placed strike to his wrist. The gun wavered. You elbowed him hard in the ribs, making him grunt. That was all you needed.

You dropped low just as Ghost fired. The bullet whizzed past you, grazing Makarov's coat. His men reacted instantly, opening fire. Bullets tore through the room, shattering glass and splintering wood.

Soap cursed in your ear. "Fuck! No shot!"

Before you could even register the movement, Ghost was on you, his arm wrapping around your waist. It wasn't just a grab-it was precise, calculated. He pulled you into him, twisting you both in a fluid motion that felt almost like a dance. Bullets zipped past, some so close you could feel the heat of them. His body shielded yours completely as he fired back, sharp, controlled bursts.

Makarov didn't stay to fight. "Идём!" (Let's go!) he barked, already moving. His men covered him as he slipped out, vanishing like a ghost into the chaos.

Ghost's grip on you was ironclad as he pulled you into cover behind an overturned couch. "You good?"

You nodded, your breath ragged. "Yeah."

Soap's voice came through, frustrated. "Bastard slipped away again. Bloody hell."

The gunfire faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Ghost was above you, his body shielding yours, his arms braced on either side of your head. His weight wasn't crushing, just enough to keep you anchored, protected. Your hands were still on his back, clutching the fabric of his gear like a lifeline.

You could feel his breath, hot, uneven, against your forehead. Your own chest rose and fell in sync with his, both of you reeling from the chaos.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from the safe haven of his chest, your fingers still gripping his vest as you looked up.

His eyes found yours.

Dark, intense, searching. He wasn't just checking if you were hurt, he was making sure you were here, with him.

You swallowed hard, your breath still ragged. "Ghost-"

"You're okay," he murmured, voice low and rough. It was more of a reassurance to himself than to you.

Your throat burned from Makarov's grip, your body ached from the impact of hitting the ground, but none of that mattered. Not right now.

Right now, it was just you and him.

You nodded slightly, still caught in his gaze. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

His jaw tightened. "He got too close."

Your fingers curled against his vest, a silent acknowledgment of just how close it had been.

Soap's voice crackled through the radio, breaking the tense silence. "Ghost, sitrep."

Ghost's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he responded. "Status green. Target escaped."

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Soap spoke again, voice gruffer than usual. "You both okay?"

Ghost's eyes flickered back to me, a quick once-over, assessing the bruises that were likely already beginning to form on my neck. "We're fine," he replied, his gaze not wavering from mine.

The mission had been a disaster. Makarov had slipped through your fingers once again, and the weight of it pressed down on everyone. After the chaos, Laswell arranged for you all to lay low in Berlin, a quiet, upscale hotel tucked away from prying eyes.

The halls were dimly lit, the soft hum of the city outside barely seeping through the thick windows. The Task Force had taken up an entire floor, each of you assigned a room for the night. It was meant to be a moment of respite, a chance to regroup before the next move. But none of you were at ease.

You had showered, hoping the scalding water would wash away the tension clinging to your skin. It didn't. Wrapped in a towel, you stepped out onto the plush carpet, glancing toward the window. The Berlin skyline stretched before you, distant lights flickering against the darkened sky. Somewhere out there, Makarov was still moving, still planning his next step.

You pulled on a loose shirt and a pair of shorts, running a hand through your damp hair. Sleep felt impossible. Your mind kept replaying everything-how close you had been, the weight of Makarov's hand around your throat, the frustration in Ghost's voice.

And Ghost-

He had been quiet after the mission, more so than usual. His presence had been impossible to ignore, though. Even in the debriefing, his gaze had lingered, watching you with something unreadable beneath that mask.

You sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bed. Maybe you were imagining things. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, the way near-death experiences blurred the lines between everything.

Then came the knock at the door.

Soft but firm.

You turned toward it, pulse skipping. For a moment, you hesitated. No one on the team would come unless it was important.

You exhaled slowly, crossing the room. Your fingers curled around the handle, and you pulled the door open.

Ghost stood there, his presence filling the doorway. He hadn't changed out of his gear, his balaclava still in place, but he had ditched the heavy tactical vest. He looked, less like a soldier, more like a man standing on the edge of something.

His eyes flickered over you, taking in your casual attire, the damp strands of hair curling at your shoulders. Something dark passed through his gaze.

You swallowed. "Couldn't sleep?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, forcing you to move back as he shut the door behind him.

And then, in a voice lower than usual, he said, "I wasn't here to talk."

"He got away because of you," he finally said, his tone sharper now.

You stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Ghost exhaled harshly, stepping back just enough to pace. "We had him, and then you hesitated. If you'd kept him talking a second longer, we could've ended this."

Anger flared inside you. "I was buying us time.."

"You let him see your damn mic!" His voice was low, dangerous, but controlled. "That mistake cost us."

His words hung in the air like a suffocating shroud. They stung, but he was right. I had made a mistake-a small one, perhaps, but in this world, mistakes got you killed. I felt a pang of guilt, of shame, but I refused to let it show.

"And what about you?" I shot back, my own temper flaring. "You could've taken the shot instead of standing there like a statue."

Ghost froze, his shoulders tensing. His gaze flicked back to me, the intensity in his eyes flaring.

"That shot wasn't clear," he gritted out. "Too many people around."

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "Since when are you afraid of collateral damage?"

His jaw clenched, tension rolling off him in waves. He was fighting something, control, emotion... I couldn't tell.

"This isn't about that," he growled. "If I'd taken that shot, and people got hurt, "

"People were already getting hurt," I snapped. "We had our chance and you just stood there."

He moved suddenly, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hand shot out, fist pounding against the desk beside my hip. I felt the impact, the wood trembling beneath his touch.

His face was close now, his breath hot against my cheek. "You don't understand how it works," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't understand what it takes, the risks it takes, to bring down a man like Makarov."

The sound that left your lips was a mixture of a gasp and a wheeze, an audible pulse of raw sensuality.

Ghost's gaze hardened, his breathing deepening as he pushed you back against the desk, crowding into your space. He was suddenly everywhere, the heat of his body, the smell of him, the sound of his voice as it dropped an octave lower.

His hand found the edge of your shirt, his thumb tracing a line along the bare skin of your hip. It was a possessive, intimate gesture, his touch sparking a low burn in your belly.

The sound that left your lips was a breathless whisper, a shuddering plea.

"Ghost..." The name trembled on your tongue.

His hand slid beneath your shirt, palm pressing flat against your stomach. His touch was rough, calloused, yet it sent a shiver through you, igniting every nerve under your skin.

"Don't you get it?" he murmured, voice thick with suppressed emotion. "You don't know this world. You don't know the risks. You don't-"

His words faltered as his fingers traced higher, brushing the edge of your bra. His eyes darkened, his touch turning possessive.

Your back arched instinctively, body melting beneath his hands like putty. Any protest died on your lips the moment he leaned in, his body pressing against yours. Logic blurred, lost to the heat coursing through you. His touch was both demanding and reverent, his hand trailing up your torso, thumb skimming the underside of your breast.

"This isn't..." you tried, already breathless.

He didn't let you finish. "Shut up."

His lips found your neck, teeth grazing, biting down just enough to make you gasp. His hand cupped your breast, firm, claiming.

"I should be angry with you," he muttered against your skin. "Shouldn't touch you. Shouldn't want this."

Thoughts scattered, incoherent beneath his touch. Every inch of you burned for him, hypersensitive to the way his hard body pressed against yours. The room was silent except for your ragged breaths, the rustle of fabric.

Then, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers tilting your chin up.

Your hands found his jaw as you leaned in, lips barely a breath away. "I need you. I want you. I don't know why, don't know how, but I've never desired anyone like this, never wanted anyone the way I want you, Simon," you whispered.

His eyes burned with something deep, unrelenting. The silence that followed was thick, charged.

And then he moved, swift, decisive.

His hands gripped your hips, lifting you onto the desk. Your legs parted, framing him as he stepped closer. His head dipped, lips tracing a path down your neck, your collarbone, moving lower, relentless in his intent.

You surrendered to him. Let him worship you.

Clothes fell away, discarded like an afterthought. He left you bare in his arms, the need between you both desperate, consuming.

His touch was a storm, demanding, possessive. Every movement left you breathless, aching for more. He stripped you down, exposed you, left you vulnerable in a way you'd never been before. And you didn't care. You wanted this. You wanted him.

His hands were everywhere, exploring, claiming. Rough, yet careful, like he was holding something precious. Each touch, each caress, seared into your skin, branding you his.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered promises, mingled breaths, shared heat. The need to have each other was insatiable, undeniable. He became you, and you became him. You became one.

And you were lost, so lost in him, in the way he consumed you. The only name left on your lips was his.

Simon.

You fell into the abyss of ecstasy, shattered beneath his touch. But he caught you, every time. He gathered the broken pieces of you, putting them back together.

And in the end, you weren't just his. He was yours, too.

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mydnyteraven · 3 months ago

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First Sight

Argos sent fifty ships when Agamemnon sent out the call for aid for his brother’s war. Helen had been stolen from her house, and all the kings of Achea were to band together to bring her home.

Diomedes had not sworn the oath, he’d only been a boy, fresh from the siege against thebes, and barely able to reach his wine cup at the feast table, but Sthenelus, Diomedes’ brother-in-arms had sworn it, and war was what Diomedes did best.

“You will fight for Achea, and win glory for me,” Athena had said, and Diomedes had agreed. There was really nothing else to do *but* agree.

So it was, 50 ships flying the colors of Argos sailed to Aulis where Agamemnon’s army gathered, each carrying a full compliment of strong, able men.

Odysseus didn’t look like a king, Diomedes thought when the Ithacan fleet finally joined the ships anchored in the bay. Though the man’s clothing was finely made and his cloak was richly dyed, his hair was unkempt, his skin was grey and his face was drawn. His eyes were sunken into his skull like a death’s-head. He looked nearly as old as Nestor, walking with stooped shoulders as he and his closest commanders entered the main tent where Agamemnon held his council. But his eyes shone with cunning, and with some hidden emotion Diomedes could not read.

Rumors filled the camp when the king arrived.

“Odysseus, son of Laertes,” the men around him said. “Laertes was an Argonaut.”

“Half the kings’ fathers were Argonauts, that’s not special. Besides, I heard that Laertes wasn’t his father, but Sysiphus, the man who cheated death.”

“That would suit him, sly fox that he is, tried to dodge the draft.”

“I heard he’d gone mad.”

“No, that was a ruse, to trick Agamemnon. Palamedes called his bluff though. Odysseus is brilliant…”

Diomedes had heard enough. He’d looked on the map to see where this Cephalonian fleet was coming from, and found the clump of islands so far west they were practically in uncharted territory, and at the heart of it was a tiny island, so small Diomedes could hardly make out the label as “Ithaca.” He could hardly believe a man of such reknown hailed from such a backwater. *This* was the man who had orchestrated the oath? The man whose plans had brought them all here?

“I have mentored him as I have mentored you,” Athena explained.

Diomedes got a better look at king Odysseus as he left Agamemnon’s tent, flanked by his men, and realized that he had overestimated his age.

Odysseus was not as old as Nestor, perhaps he was only a decade older than Diomedes, at most, but he bore the signs of a man who had not slept in days, which had given him the grey pallor, and the circles beneath his eyes had overtaken them. Now that they were out of sight of the main tent, and the rest of the army had gone about their business, Diomedes saw the king lean heavily on his man’s shoulder, going from looking like an old man to practically a child, the picture of innocence.

When the broad-shouldered man supporting the king shot Diomedes a glare, Dio simply saluted and strode away. This was Diomedes' domain, the domain of the soldier. What did he care about the opinion of a draft dodger?

#mydnyteraven writes #writing #fanfic #the Iliad #diomedes #odysseus #fanfiction #greek mythology

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quitealotofsodapop · 8 months ago

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Hello!! I would like to do some fanart for the ship children for each of the kids of the wukongverse except I can't really find some descriptions for some of them, like keto and rahu who I think were only mentioned once(??) Do you by chance have a link for them or a tag?

Of course! I always welcome fanart of my aus or ideas! ^♡^

I'll try to do decent descriptions for all ze babies/fan children.

Lego Monkie Kid - Shadowpeach (multiple aus);

Zàoyīn & Bàoliè/"Rumble & Savage" - tiny black-furred baby monkeys with red face masks + Macaque's dark skin. Get into a lot of havoc despite being the size of marmosets. Develop little red "tiger stripes" on their limbs and tails as they get older. Rumble has natural six-ears.

Yuebei Xing - the baby girl herself and star of the SlowBoiled au. Tiniest black furball ever. Big blue eyes (often caused by eating LBD's soul). And a white skull-shaped face marking. Grows to be much taller than either parent. Here's some super cute fanart done by @teatime-at-4 + teenage Yuebei by @soniclozdplove + an older version of her done in the LMK OC Picrew.

Jidu & Luohuo - born shortly after Yuebei, and named for the lunar nodes/phenomena making them the "Nodelets". Furs are a mix of orange and black like tortoiseshell cats. Both have four purple and orange ears. Very mischievous.

Luzhen - technically Wukong's little brother, depending on the au. Looks like a little clone of him, but with deep blue eyes. Loves music.

Ziqi - newest baby idea. Named for the last Lunar phenomena (Perigee/a supposed "shadow planet") not given a character in Journey to the South. Surprise baby. Pure black (like a shadow) with hazy purple eyes, and face marking.

+some lovely human glamour designs made by @soniclozdplovesonic for the Post Jttw Stone Egged au. I praise their work openly, they are amazing.

Monkey King Hero is Back - ReboundedHeroes;

Xiaoyun/"Little Cloud" - born from a mysterious cloud-patterned Stone Egg. Egg was damaged before hatching; causing the right eye, right ear(s), and right arm not to develop correctly. Pure white fluffy fur, like a cloud. Very small and skinny due to being born premature. Very adventurous, gives his parents frequent heart attacks.

Yǔ Sōng & Xuě Bào - Twin girls born sometime into the family's Journey across the kingdoms. Look like little toasted macaroons with six ears each, and violet eyes. Develop their baba's red-auburn when they grow up.

+Shui Lian - Adopted. AU form of the White-Faced Vixen. Due to timeline changes, the "vixen" is rather only a pre-teen kit. Has albinism and is unable to hide her fox ears and tail despite mostly-human form.

Monkey King Reborn - Fruitiedads;

Xiao Qi - Fruitie/Qi Energy reborn as a Stone Monkey egg by sheer willpower. Fur so white it look transparent. Pink skin + pink heart-shaped face marking. Big smiley baby. Looks like a fairytale prince.

Xiao Lü - reincarnation of Yuandi/Primordium created when Nüwa tricked Smokey/SWK into creating a clay figure to house the primordial soul - which became a new stone egg. Pure black fur, light skin, and no noticeable face marking as if yet. Has little grey "shoes" on the fur around her feet - hence the name.

5 False Ginseng Fruit Babies - complete and utter accident on the monkeys part. Smokey tried growing the pit from the Ginseng fruit he ate in hopes that the resulting tree could help reinvigorate the damaged FFM. Liang/LEM watered/tended to the tree while he was gone. It did not in fact bare Ginseng Fruit - but five whole newborn monkey cubs - all named after stone fruits. Current draft of the au places their "fruiting" after the Journey once everyone's come home. More detailed post here.

Lìzhī & Hǎizǎo - Twins. Born at the crux of the Journey. Accidentally delivered inside the Thunderclap Monastery. Look like miniature versions of Smokey, tiny brown furred grumpy things.

+Zhu Yu & Ku Ai / Wood Wolf Siblings - Adopted. The children of Kui Mulang/Revati/Yellow Robed Demon and the Princess Baihuaxiu. After the stray star wolf entity was captured, the Princess wanted nothing to do with her half-wolf children (given that they were conceived in less than ideal circumstances) and the human king wanted them destroyed. The pilgrims take the little werewolves into their group. Older girl and younger boy, both below the age of seven. Mix of brown and grey fur/hair like regular wolf pups. Think the kids from Wolf Children Ami & Yuki.

Monkey King 2023/Netflix - CherryandOliveStones;

Xiaoshi - created when Cherry/SWK wanted to see if he could make "another him" from clay and a pebble after he had learned the story of Nüwa. Clay Egg became a real Stone Egg. Xiaoshi has bright orange fur and light briwn face markings. Rarely doesn't have paint or ink in his fur. Link to some amazing art done by @tsa-smth.

Hǔpò & Zhēnzhū aka "The Pebbles" - natural babies. Look like little clones of their LEM (black fur with white accents) with their dear baba's green eyes.

Luzhen (yes another one) - miniature version of Cherry/SWK. Possible little brother.

New Gods series - Jackpotshipping;

Xiaozhēn - dumpster baby. Possible half-monkey demon. Fluffy brown fur, built like a dad - cus he is one. Is in his 30s demon-wise. Has kids of his own.

Unnamed newborn twins nicknamed "Two Pair" (x) - dark fur and brown eyes. One baby is an attempted changeling - but they aren't sure which one.

Meihouwang 2009 - Peachbuds;

Ketu & Rahu - a pair of twins, one a loose Stone Egg that arrived in a comet, the other an egg formed naturally between the parents (they're all grown up by now ofc). Both have a mix of silver and gold fur, like their parents when they were younger. Rahu has six ears. Here's the post you mentioned!

Smash Legends - FabledConnections;

No definite kids, but I'd imagine they'd be a mix of black and white fur. Like tuxedo cats.

No kids planned for the 1999/2000 Legends cartoon pair (yet)

Thank you so much for your interest in all of this - I try to keep all these ideas under the tag #jttw inspo fan children when I can. If you decide to make fanart for any of these babies (or the parents), make sure to @ me so I can see!

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local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti · 2 months ago

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Holy crap I just bought an ethically sourced grey wolf skull at the Oddities and Curiosities Expo 🤯 with CITES paperwork.

This is a big deal for me here in Australia because I could never have thought obtaining a wild canid skull from Canada was even possible with our strict quarantine laws.

I also grabbed a black backed jackal skull - ethically sourced from Africa - to display with the red fox skull I found and cleaned up about 10 years ago.

I’m so so excited to have these canid skulls. I can’t stop staring at them they’re just gorgeous!!!!

These are so special and so incredible and I’m so happy I found them at the expo today!

They’re on display with the beautifully preserved skull of my partner’s cat, who died of cancer a few years ago.

I don’t know if I’d ever have my pets skulls preserved but I respect his wishes and I think she’s beautiful on display there.

#skull collection #grey wolf #black backed jackal #wild canid #dead animal cw

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thechaoticplayer · 1 year ago

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Eating His Prey

author's note: I really wanted to write a fic about Ike, more specifically sadistic and yandere Ike because holy shit it was kinda hot what he was doing sheeeeeesh Summary: Being such a sly (apparently my keyboard wanted to make you slay so you're also very slay) and mischievous little fox you are, you decide to mess around in a wolf's territory. However, you're in for a wild reality check... Contains: degrading oh wow, dom Ike, hes literally using you, and all that spicy stuff mmm

Hunting in the wolf's territory was an adventure within itself, the new terrain and yummy prey was something that you desired very much. Besides, wouldn't be fun to mess around a bit? You are a great predator yourself, enjoying making your prey squeak and cry underneath your arms. You'd drag out their suffering for a good while. It was all fun and games for you.

You are currently traipsing through the forest full of crowded trees, scattered patches of sunlight kissing the grass floor. You finished having a good meal of a rabbit, a cute little thing you almost felt bad for devouring. Your nose quivered, sniffing the air and catching a scent.

Wolf scent. But your senses told you he was away at the moment. You grin, lips pulled back to reveal canine teeth. His little home! Maybe you could get some sort of rabbit shit and litter it all across his home. Maybe you could build a little fort out of sticks for him.

You dart in and out bushes with ease, your feet silently tapping the ground. Your prey hardly ever heard you coming, which was fortunate and unfortunate at once. Unaware little things. Thank god you were an excellent predator and not some weak ass prey!

You find yourself at the mouth of a cave, looking awfully gloomy inside. You sniff once more. Yup, his scent is much stronger here. Without a care in the world, you skip on inside.

It was very dark for a good few feet, your night vision clicking in after a few seconds. Bones lay scattered across the cave floor: skulls, ribs, femurs, arms. Some even arranged in twisted ways, like horrific art. Wolf must be some sort of sick freak. Not like you were anyone to judge. But still. Freak.

But it gradually began to get brighter, and you walk faster, you didn't want to dilly dally after all. You emerge within a bigger room, with a hole on the ceiling like a window. You notice there was no patch of leaves or soft grass for rest (what the fuck does he actually sleep on this hard ass rock? The wolf is literally a psycho) and surprisingly, no weird bone art. Just tallies on the wall, made with his claw you presumed, lining the walls. Several rows after row. What is this? his body count?

Eh. you don't care. You just wanna create a mess out of his home.

You drag some of the bones from the corridor and toss them around. Snapping some in half and creating your own work of art. You giggle as you line up some bones, a picture of a cock on his floor now. Your tail swishes back and forth with excitement. Perhaps you should go back to the riverbed, gather some mud and plaster it all over the wolf's walls. A nice touch to such a bland room.

You turn your head and freeze. Your heart rate increases.

The wolf himself is here, staring you down with golden eyes. Glowing from the darkness, expression blank as he watched you. Caught-red handed. How long was here there anyway? How did you not hear his entrance? as for the smell, his scent was all over the place, and it is very strong. Luck was simply not on your side.

"Well well well," the grey wolf chuckles darkly, sending electricity down your spine. Instinct told you to run your ass out of there, but you froze, out of fear. "What's a little fox doing here in my domain? Wrecking my home, hm?"

You say nothing, eyes glancing behind him. The only exit. A laugh, as he approaches still.

"Since we are going to get very acquainted, my name is Ike Eveland," the wolf says cheerfully and you furrow your brows because what the hell? "And now, answer me this: what gave you the idea to come here? Death wish?"

"...b-because i wanna," your shaky voice replies and you clear your throat. You straighten your body and stare back at him, never backing down. Not too some puny wolf. "I go wherever I want."

Ike tsks at you, stalking closer. "Now now, I like the confidence yes, but do you realise your situation, dear?" He smiles, sharp teeth bared. "I'm going to eat you alive."

Finally, he launches himself at you, claws glinting in the sunlight. Immediately your legs tense and push you, sprinting below him out of the room and into the corridor. Your heart roars in your ears as you run as far as you possibly can out of the cave, breathing heavily.

What a fucking insane little shit! He was definitely a bit smaller than other wolves you met, but something about the way his sinister gaze sent shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but the wolf was actually pretty intimidating. His eyes were such a lovely shade of gold though...

You shake your head and keep running, hopping through a small river to make him lose your scent. You turn towards another direction, toward the familiar big tree you liked to lean against when you wanted to think. It was a good distance from the wolf's territory, so you should be fine. Besides, why would Ike come all the way over here for one silly fox? Heh.

You arrive at the foot of the tree and plop down, regaining your oxygen. Damn, you've never ran so much in your life. You curl your fluffy tail around you, plucking out leaves. Your beating heart slowed a bit as relief flooded your veins. That was simply a vibe check from the gods above. You have learned to stay away from there in the near by future, because if you went there again, you wouldn't have a future.

You lean down with the balls of your hand on the grass, stretching with your ass in the air and felt every bone crack in your back. You sigh contently. It has always felt good to do that after a run.

Your ear twitched and a sound of rustling bushes interrupts your stretch. You sit back, suddenly alert. You sniff the air, but only smell your wet fur. You survey your surroundings, and seeing nothing. A squirrel? However, you stayed cautious and kept your ears open.

While you were cleaning your teeth, another sound, the noise of a twig snapping under a huge weight. It is closer to you than before.

With no warning, you high-tail it out of there, not even turning to see who it is because you could already tell by that menacing aura alone. The grey wolf is hunting you.

"Go away!" you shout, shooting through bushes and swerving around thick trees. "Go find some dumb rabbit to devour!"

"You're much more intriguing!" Ike calls, and you're startled by how you can't hear his footsteps and yours is loud as shit. "Let's play a game, huh?"

"I don't play no games!" You snap, diving into a fox hole made from another fox and scurrying through the small tunnel. He couldn't get through because he's too large! ha!

"It'll be fun!" He calls from outside the tunnel. "Let's play hide and seek, little one!" Ike sings, and you find it oddly pretty.

Dude, really?

You shoot out the other end and continue sprinting. Fuck out of here with that hide and seek nonsense!

"I'll be the seeker," Ike says from behind, startling so much you almost stumble. "I'll give you some time to hide!"

His voice fades and you glance over your shoulder. Gone. Kapoof. Finally, holy shit, his presence was getting annoying as shit. Wait. Is he actually going to play hide and seek?

You curse in your mind, running as far as your legs could carry. You pause, chest heaving as you breath rapidly through your mouth. You turn in a circle, attempting to find a good hiding spot. You spy a big tree with a hollow center, obscured by a flower bush. It is right by a river too!

You dive into the hole without delay and try to rein in your breathing. You quickly adjust the bush so it didn't look like it was rammed through. It was not long before you felt that ominous presence again, your tail poofing up instantly.

"Little fox, where are you?" Ike coos from a good distance away. You cover your mouth with both hands. "You're a sly thing, huh? Walking around my own territory like it was your place. Now, it's time to make sure you learn your place."

You press yourself against the wall so hard, the grooves start to imprint on your skin. You're starting to regret your decisions. It seems like the wolf will never let you go until he captures you. You silently pray to whatever gods were listening.

Turns out they were not. They said screw you kiddo you're on your own.

"I will find you," Ike promises, his voice a tad closer. "I can feel your heart. So fast. Am I making you nervous?"

You grind your teeth, stopping yourself from growling. This cocky bastard.

"I tend to get that reaction a lot. I didn't think I was that horrifying, being on the smaller scale," Ike says and you roll your eyes because who the fuck asked? "I give off threatening vibes, supposedly. that's what the last one said anyway."

Huh?

"The last prey I had," the wolf continues, almost as if he just read your mind. "You must've seen the lines on the walls. All animals I've killed and perhaps devour. Sometimes, I kill for the fun of it and leave the carcass for other animals. Oh, how thrilling it is, watching the blood seep onto the floor and the life draining out of their eyes!" Ike sighs and your blood goes cold because it's outside your hiding place. A big hand reaches out to touch the flower in front of you. "Their blood, such a pretty shade of red just like this poppy."

The hand snakes out like a viper and snatches your ankle and you yell, kicking at him but he drags you out of the tree. Still kicking and screaming bloody murder, you kick his face in sheer desperation. His head turned toward another direction but his hand still latched onto your ankle.

"That wasn't very polite," Ike says, his gaze on you and you still. "What's wrong? Sad because you lost?"

"No way!" You claw at his hand but he doesn't budge. Just watches your pathetic attempts. "Let go!"

He leans in close to your face and you halt your actions. His breaths on your face as the wolf holds eye contact with you. The flecked color of brown in his eyes are mesmerizing to look at, entrancing. You swallow hard. Ike's hand slides from your ankle to your knee, to your thigh, sending goosebumps across your skin. He squeezes, his nails digging in slightly and you wince.

"No. You're mine to play with now, cute little fox."

Something about the way his voice went lower, or was it the hand movement? made your heart beat faster, and not in a frightened way. The wolf's hand travels to your hip and your breath hitches, still staring into the eyes of your enemy. The hand goes all the up from your arm, feather light, skins your collarbone and finds itself a new home on your neck. Wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, Ike begins to squeeze lightly. Still looking down at you with those pretty eyes, hovering over you with such a smirk on his lips.

Ike stops squeezing, evidently surprised. He sniffs the air, but still a hand around your throat, his nose dipping lower. His nose bumps against your thigh and he growls low in his throat, yanking your legs apart. You squeak.

Arousal. Pure arousal, glittering in the light. Ike stares for a moment, still sniffing. His gaze slides back up to you and you stop breathing.

"Little fox..." he says quietly, and excitement jolts up. "Are you... aroused, right now?"

You don't respond, a bit ashamed. Why the hell were you getting horny for the man about to kill you? Who in their right mind-?

You gasp as you feel a hot mouth against your pussy, lapping up the juices with a shocking pace. You whine, struggling to get away but both his hands are on your thighs now, keeping you spread open and down on the grass as he ravaged your pretty little hole.

You tasted so fucking good, more than he could ever imagine! His nose bumps your clit as his tongue glides in and out of your wet hole, making squelching noises. You moan loudly, digging your nails into his scalp as you push him into you. Ike growls, sending more electricity up your spine. His teeth grazes your clit as he suckles the bundle of nerves and you gasp.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck- mph!" You cover your mouth, attempting to muffle your embarrassing sounds.

The wolf stops, narrowing his eyes at you. "Who said for you to hide those pretty noises?"

You bite your lip, legs squirming as the breeze hits your pussy. "I-I, well..."

"Keep our hands. Off. If you do so again, I'll make sure you never do it again, do you understand?"

You nod quickly, getting even more aroused by his threat and you subconsciously think, 'what the FUCK' and he smirks.

Ike eats you out like a wolf starved, fucking and teasing your hole with such accuracy you start to see stars, and watching him eat you like you were the best meal he ever had turned you on even more and you felt your walls clamp around his tongue.

"Good slut," Ike whispers against your clit, sucking on it for a brief moment before sinking his teeth into your thigh, making you yelp. "Horny little thing, for a predator who was going to devour you whole..." the wolf chuckles.

Your slick slathered across his face, buried in you, legs over his shoulders was a sight to see. You moan, "a-ah! Mmm, right there, t-there!" Your toes curl, eyes rolled back as the orgasm comes over in waves, making your body shake from pleasure as you release soft whines. But Ike isn't done, he's just getting started.

A finger pushes itself into you and you gasp yet again. It explores your walls, tickling that one spot. Then another is added, and Ike slowly pumps his fingers into you, watching with fascination as your pussy eagerly swallows his digits. Pulling him in.

"What a fucking whore," he notes, flicking his eyes up at your flushed cheeks and the drool leaking down your chin. "I haven't even put my cock in you yet."

Your walls squeeze around his fingers at the sentence and he laughs darkly. He bites your other thigh, drawing blood as you wince in pain. The wolf quickly laps up your blood with a groan. His fingers pump faster, curling at the right time and you moan in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Greedy bitch. Do you want me to let you cum?" He asks, gold glowing between your legs. New hickeys flourish all over your inner thighs along with obvious bite marks.

"Yes please," you moan, angling your hips up and he repeatedly hits that delicious spot. "Hah- f-fuck! N-ngh! Pleasepleasepleaseplease... "

Ike pulls his fingers out and you immediately protest but he shushes you. The loss of his fingers inside you was making you insane, until you get filled up by something entirely different.

"O-oh... " you moan quietly, his cock hard inside of you.

"Dumb fox." Ike takes your wrists and pins them above your head as he looks down at you. Your breath hitches. "Dumb, horny fox."

He snaps his hips and you make a guttural sound. Ike's pupils are big, drinking in every single detail from your sweat collecting on your skin, your body squirming underneath him, to your mouth popped open slightly. Oh, and those luscious lips of yours, appearing soft and unkissed...

Might as well make you his new toy now, eh?

Ike smashes his lips into yours as he fucks you fast and hard, shoving his tongue inside your mouth as you open to moan. Tongues dancing together and his muscle exploring every single space within your mouth. You tasted so delicious and felt so delicious, there was no way in hell he was letting you go now.

Satisfied with your bruised lips, the wolf goes to mark your neck. Biting, kissing, sucking. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he digs his nails into you. Tears running down your face as you hiccup, crying and saying "it's too much, it's too much'.

Ike could not give a damn. You brought this upon yourself, and now he's going to have fun with his new fucktoy.

#nijisanji en #nijien #nijisanji #nijisanji smut #vtuber #nijisanji x reader #favorite vtuber #luxiem #Ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #Ike eveland smut

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